


Stealth Crawl

by TT_Angst_Queen



Series: 5 Times one of the Avengers saw Bucky revive Steve (+1 time he didn't) [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, POV Natasha Romanov, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 14:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TT_Angst_Queen/pseuds/TT_Angst_Queen
Summary: Natasha Romanov thought that she would be fine when she joined the Avengers- that if she lost one of them, it would not hurt- love was for children.She was arrogant.She was wrong.





	Stealth Crawl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biblionerd07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/gifts).
  * Inspired by [crawl home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437627) by [biblionerd07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07). 



> This is a sequel (sort of) to Biblionerd07's: Crawl Home. (with permission)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They knew that the mission wouldn’t be a simple in and out from the get-go when Fury gave them a _look_ as they left the briefing. Natasha, Yasha, and Steve knew that look- intimately.

 

“You know,” Natasha pointed out, hiding the worry she felt, tone flat,

 

“He’s sure at least one of us won’t come back from this alive.”

 

Fidjitng with his knife, Yasha nodded, sharing a glance with Steve that had the Widow curious, but didn’t comment on.

 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Tasha’,” Steve clapped a hand on her shoulder, giving her a confident smile. The red-haired assassin looked between the two super-soldiers with narrowed eyes, but the lovers just smiled at her, unconcerned. Nodding, her jaw clenched, she spoke,

 

“You’re both hiding something.” it wasn’t a question, and they knew it.

 

Yasha just shrugged, and grabbed his weapons and began to strap them on, while Steve checked his, rarely used, gun, adding a mag of bullets to his tac-belt.

 

“I will find out, _Yasha_ , _Stepen_ ,” she warned them, fingers twitching.

 

“Let’s hope not, for your sake, _Nateshenka_.”

 

Yasha’s tone was so grave that Natasha’s eyes widened and she took an aborted step back.

 

“Is it that bad?”

 

“Depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

Steve shrugged.

 

“How bad it is.”

 

Natasha furrowed her brows.

 

“How bad what is?”

 

Steve just smiled, the hint of darkness and horror hidden behind it making Natasha not question him further.

 

She wished she had.

 

* * *

 

 

The mission was to take down one of the very few HYDRA bases left, which, on its own, sounded simple. Unfortunately, it wasn’t;

 

This particular HYDRA base was one of the few because of just how protected it was. HYDRA had protected this base with all they could afford to because it was their main weaponry stronghold that held not only their weapons but also prototypes. Without this stronghold, HYDRA  would be irredeemably crippled, and they knew it.

 

The mission started off fine, they had decided on a stealth approach, putting remotely detonated bombs at strategic areas around the base, the plan is that they would be in and out without being seen; minimal fighting, minimal interaction, thus, minimal injuries and less chance of Fury’s expectations becoming reality.

 

But this base, unlike the rest of HYDRA, was filled with a smarter grade of Nazi’s, much to the three’s frustration.

 

Stealth was something that Yasha and Natasha excelled in, Training from the Red Room and HYDRA making stealth laughably easy, even if it was slightly harder this time. Steve, on the other hand, was not trained to be stealthy, despite what his new suit was called. Steve was not made to be stealthy, he was big, loud, and he was about a subtle as a particularly neon room from the seventies on crack.

 

So they really shouldn’t be surprised when they met at the meetup point and Steve was already there.

 

Well, sorta.

 

When they got to the meetup point, an area far enough away from the blast radius that they would only feel a slight breeze when the explosion rocked the HYDRA base, they found Steve sitting against a tree, his head bowed, not moving, even though he should have heard them coming a mile away.

 

Natasha felt dread settle in her gut like lead. Speeding up, she almost ran to Steve’s slumped over form, dropping down hard beside him, ignoring the way her knees would undoubtedly have bruises later.

 

“Steve?” Natasha whispered, her hand reaching out to the blond man’s still face. She noticed dimly that her hand was shaking.

 

“Steve, wake up,” Natasha said firmly, her hand touching the Captains flesh. His skin was cold- lifeless.

 

“Natasha-” Yasha muttered, grabbing her shoulder gently. She shook him off.

 

“Rogers, wake up, we need to go,” Natasha shook the blond’s shoulder, a hitch in her breathing when Steve’s head just…. _flopped_.

 

“Natasha, stop.” Yasha pulled her away.

“ _Yasha_ , Steve-”  her breath was coming out in gasps, Natasha’s carefully erected walls around her emotions and heart crumbling to dust in the face of Steve- of Steve’s- of his- oh god.

 

Natasha had thought she would be fine when she first joined the Avengers if she lost a teammate. She had been confident that she would be kind, but distant, that she wouldn’t start any personal relationships with any of the team, because love, after all, was for children- and she hadn’t been a child since she was handed a gun at the age of five and told to shoot and kill her handler who had grown to care for her _far_ too much.

 

She had been arrogant, and so _very_ wrong.

 

Her team had slowly but surely dug their way under her skin, had placed themselves in her heart with their caring actions, kind words, and laughter. Despite knowing that they had dangerous jobs, she had arrogantly thought that as a team, nothing could touch them. Close calls after close calls came and went, and she became lenient, lazy. She forgot that at any time one of them could be killed, could be lost permanently.

 

 _She had forgotten_. Now, she was paying for that.

 

Looking at Steve now, she noticed what she had not, or refused to notice before, things her brain had filtered out when she was denying the reality in front of her.

 

Steves skin was not only cold but almost waxy. His eyes glazed over and sunken, a whitish film over the normally bright blue. The left half his face was sticky and soaked in dried blood, the side soaked in blood dented, concave; like he got hit with something hard, and sunk his skull in like it was clay. His nose was broken, crooked, and his right eye had a wide, bloody slice starting from eyebrow to mouth, showing bone, sinew and blood, somehow not touching the filmy blue orbs. His neck had was looked like hand-shaped bruises that had only partly healed before there was no life to heal, and a bullet graze. His stealth suit was tacky with blood, most of it concentrated on his chest and where his lungs would be, and a stab-wound in his stomach.

 

A horribly deep slice on his left arm almost severed the limb from his body.

 

The irony of that didn’t escape her- she wondered if the enemy had done that on purpose ( _she wondered if Yasha noticed- He probably did_ ).

 

The whole image had her looking at the corpse of her friend and teammate with damp, wide, horrified eyes.

 

“ _Yasha_ -” she gritted her teeth, trying to hold back her sobs with every tattered shred of self-control, her efforts useless for once in her life.

 

The forest was silent, almost like even the trees were mourning with her, and she jerked when Yasha grabbed her arm and turned her forcibly around, making him face her.

 

“Do you remember when you told us you knew we were hiding something?” Yasha asked her, his face grave and dark.

 

“Yasha, what-”

 

“ _Do. You. Remember._ ” Yasha had an iron grip on her arms that threatened to bruise and was looking into her eyes like he was looking into her soul. He was frightening her.

 

“Yes- but-” Yasha covered her mouth with his metal hand, cutting her off.

 

“You’re about to find out that secret, Natashenka,” Yasha told her, “and it might unnerve you, but you have to be quiet while it’s happening and _you can’t tell anyone_ , got it? Not even Fury.”

 

Searching Yasha’s face, Natasha was starting to realize that what she was about to see would probably feature in her nightmares more than the sight of her leader and friend dead, bloody corpse ever would- Yasha’s eyes promised that.

 

“You probably shouldn’t look, this won’t be pretty.”

 

She didn’t listen.

 

She wished she had.

  


She almost cried out when, after laying Steve’s corpse flat on the ground, Yasha whipped his knife out and shove it in the corpse’ abdomen.

 

She wanted to gasp when Yasha proceded to split the corpse open from abs to collarbone with his knife.

 

She wanted to gag when Yasha used he new metal arm to crack open the corpse’ ribs.

 

And she wanted to _vomit_ when Yasha stuck his head in the gaping cavity and kissed the dead organ with tenderness and love while muttering words she couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears- ringing that got louder when the corpse suddenly _gasped_ and healed before her eyes while Yasha sat back, a grim, dark satisfaction settling on his face, which made her wonder-

 

_How many times has he had to do this?_

 

_How many times had Steven Grant Rogers died?_

 

The next few hours were quite honestly a blur.

 

She watched with distant eyes how Steve came back to life almost like a toddler, not able to walk well or speak, his brain clearly not healed as fast as the rest of him.

 

She followed Yasha dazedly back to the Quinjet, and was silent for most of the flight, deep in thought.

 

About twenty minutes from their destination, with Steve sleeping on one of the seats, Natasha sat beside Yasha at the cockpit.

 

“I will not ask how, because the Red Room and recent has taught me that there are thing greater than ourselves out there.” Yasha nodded, and Natasha continued.

 

“I will not tell a soul, you have my word.”

 

“Thank you, Natashenka,” Yasha looked at her, and she could see the lingering pain his eyes.

 

“No, Yasha, Thank _you_ ,” he raised an eyebrow at her, and she elaborated.

 

“Steve is- important. To me- us. I do not think we could last without him. He is special- loved.”

 

Yasha nodded, and the conversation was over.

 

Behind them, Steve Rogers _breathed_.

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work , Buy me a coffee: buymeacoff.ee/RJMworks


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